Of Bashfulness And Tardiness
by Iggyloid
Summary: America feels conflicted and divided when England - no, Arthur - visits him, red-faced with a card in hand. The Brit, of course, is reluctant and denying, but he isn't sobbing yet, so that's a good sign, yes? But he's as combative and sarcastic as ever and all cannons are raised. "Better late than never." A fourth of July story, Happy Birthday America. USUK. America/England.


"Happy birthday."

America had been sitting peacefully, eating a slice of colourful left-over cake with a lone streamer draped over his left shoulder, facing a large window, complete with a balcony and all, in his sleek, leather gaming chair that he'd scooted over to get a better view of the sun rising. He certainly wasn't expecting a congratulations. He raised an eyebrow and spun himself around - a knot tied itself from within his stomach and his sugary, patriotic breakfast didn't taste as sweet as it did a few seconds earlier - he swallowed a sickeningly unhealthy lump of the desert, licked the icing from his lips and faced the man he thought he'd never see whilst July was still young.

"A bit late, aren't we?" He leered cockily, a little hurt, yet still suprised and shocked. He hauled himself out of his chair and deposited the rest of his cake on a nearby table. The flavour lingered in his mouth, warped and distorted, mixed with his saliva.

"Better late than never, yes?" The man retorted.

The man was a nation, and a nation and a half he was. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, the holder of the 2012 Olympic Games that were to be held in a few weeks or so and the once feared empire that struck fear into the hearts of the most sturdy of countries.

"Arthur..." America sighed. "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur."

The personification of the United Kingdom shook his head sternly and frowned disapprovingly.  
"My _name_ is Arthur and you are not to call me that." He glowered. "It's rude to address me by a name I do not wish to be known as."

"But you _are_ Arthur, aren't you?" The American returned his colleague's glare with one of his own, with the same fire and the same ferocity.

"Not to you. To you, my dearest, I am the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Or England, which ever you prefer." The Englishman stood with his hands on his hips, a scowl painted on his face. He held a pale blue envolope in one hand. "I would have much rather come into your company next sunday. The eighth. Bearable, at the very least. Not to mention necessary, you do know we have a World Summit scheduled for then, right?"

"Don't take me for a fool, Arthur." America folded his arms across his chest. He strode over to the other nation, subconsciously taking note of their height difference. He practically _towered _ over England! He was at least a good head or so taller!

"Why didn't you come earlier? I don't know, on the fourth, perhaps? Two days late don't cut it." America continued. "It's not fair."

England furrowed his brow and bit down harshly on his bottom lip. His cheeks flushed - he turned scarlet! He took a step backwards, towards the door, and winced audibly.

"It's _doesn't, _not _don't, _you have no right to accuse _me _of being unfair, you know perfectly well why I refuse to visit you on that blasted day!" England's eyes shone with defiance. "I came at least!" He thrust the envolope into the taller nation's chest, landing a solid punch as he did, relishing in the feel. America responded quickly and clamped a hand around his wrist. He growled, sounding all too feral for England's liking. Light reflected from his glasses. The sun was still rising. America pushed into England's torso with his free hand and pressed him the wall behind them, twisting away from the door.

"Not good enough!" America spat like a spoilt, bratty child and knocked the air out of England's lungs as they slammed into the wall.

"America!" England hissed, enraged. "What are you doing, you bloody imbecile? Unhand me, let me go!" He squirmed and fought against America's strength. "Stop it!"

With wide, oddly-observant eyes, America studied the envolope carefully. He unwrapped his hand from England's wrist and kept the other tightly to his chest, letting wander slightly to splay over his clothed, lean stomach. He could feel the slight muscle underneath the green blazer of the Brit's uniform. He pried the paper envolope from England. His eyes scanned over it lightly.

_To the The United States of America_

"Are you going to open it?" England question. Sarcasm weighed down his tone. "Or are you just going to stare at it like a complete and utter prat?"

America's frown deepened. He reluctantly pulled his hand away from England's body, but kept himself close enough to the other man so that he had no chance of escape. With care and precision, America opened the envolope and pulled out its contents - a card. He gaped slightly. England averted his gaze bashfully, the remains of what were unshed tears of frustration stung at the corners of his eyes.

"I-I-It's from my boss, okay? W-Well, he insisted that I brush aside our differences and greet you with a card, at least, I mean-" England blabbered, red-faced. America silently held an ungloved finger to the blond's lips and suddenly became aware of his attire. His plain white shirt was mostly unbuttoned. A few had even been popped straight off. Stains littered the material and his sleeves were rolled up, past his elbows. His trousers were black, once ironed, torn at the bottom of the left leg and ripped here and there. Of course, his annual birthday party had resulted in a few drunken escapades. He just couldn't bare to trouble himself with changing his clothes for the past day or so.

He took the card and stared the front of it.

_Best Wishes_

He opened it, treating it as if it were an ancient artifact - something of great importance and significance - he read the writing inside.

_America, _

_I know you and I have not always been able to see eye to eye_

_But I want you to know that even though we're an ocean apart _

_And seperated by a history that has been tainted by more than enough blood_

_You have always remained within my thoughts_

_And somehow you've managed to stay somewhere _

_In my heart_

_I'm over two centuries late, I suppose I should have said this long ago_

_But I hope you understand that this is still painful for me_

_On the fourth of July, two-hundred and sixty-six years ago_

_I lost the person that mattered the most to me_

_He's still lost to me, but I want to find him_

_Happy Birthday, America, best wishes to you_

_Here's hoping that this one will be as satisfying for you as the last_

_- England x_

The paper was soiled. Damp, even. Marks where liquid had so obviously been spilt stood out for all to see, plain and as clear as the day that was unfolding. America felt tears of his own prickle at his eyes as he traced his thumb over an area that had once been cried over.

"A-Arthur." He choked. His tough facade dropped at an almost instant. Guilt pooled within him but he stood, resistant to the waves of nausea that threatened to engulf him. He could still not apologise for the pain he had caused the former empire, just as he could not expect the former empire to let go of their past. For years and years, he had tried to force the shorter nation into celebrating a day which saw only the breaking of ties and the demolishing of a relationship. He had yet to see that.

America dropped the card to their feet as he pulled England - _no, Arthur, _he was _Arthur _whether he liked it or not - into a tight, meaningful embrace.

"Thank you," he mumbled as he burrowed his head into the crook of the shorter man's shoulder. "Thank you, Arthur."

"D-Don't call me that!" Arthur stammered. He pushed at America's chest and weakly tried to pull away.

America suddenly pulled Arthur closer and lifted his head. He pressed soft kisses to the soft, blond locks of his hair and whispered sweet nothings as a token of his gratitude, of appreciation.

"Stop it!" Arthur protested. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!"

"Why?" America breathlessly asked with a slight whine plaguing his tone. "I've waited so long for something like this. Just something, something like acceptance, from you and now I have it. Why should I hold back after I've finally got the only birthday present I ever wanted?"

"You wanted me to send you a card?" Arthur quizzed, confused, but America shook his head.

"No, no, no, no, no!" He repeated nonchalantly. "I've always wanted _you, _and now I can finally have you, Arthur, if you'll take me, but I'm not the kind of guy you'll be able to forget about. You won't get rid of me, never! I'll be content with aquaintenceship if I have to, Arthur Kirkland, I love you and I have since the end of my revolution, when it stopped, when the declarence was signed, because then, not only did I obtain the status of a country but I also broke away from you. I was never you brother by blood, only by bond, and now that's gone I can finally hold you like a lover would and kiss you like a lover would and _love _you like a lover would."

America ranted on and on to Arthur, whispering sugary words and sweet proclaimations of love into his ear as the sun climbed into the sky. The orange colours slowly faded into clear blue as they held one another. Arthur responded, albeit hesistantly. He held onto America and huddled himself closer to the taller man, uncaring towards the sticky July heat that was surely catching up with them. His green uniform clung to his lithe form and his cheeks burned hotter at every brushing contact.

"I love you." America confessed.

"I love you."

"I love you."

"I love you."

"I love you, Arthur Kirkland."

"I love you."

"I love you."

"I love you-"

America stumbled over his words as, this time, he found a gloved finger held at his lips. Arthur peered up at him, though suprisingly dark lashes. Bright emeralds sparkled up at him as red cheeks burned beneath his bare fingers.

"I know you love me, Alfred, and I love you too."

* * *

**I'd like to clear this up with you all. I, like England, cannot understand why Independence Day is so important to the public of America. Of course, every person is an individual, so this is where the phrase _each to their own _comes in handy. As I am British myself, I cannot see why the day is so important. Of course, it is the day that America became independent, but why mark it with outlandish celebrations and fireworks and the likes of? I do not mean to offend, as I'm sure the day is enjoyed by many and I commend all party-goers for that fact, but I'd appreciate it if you'd be so kind as to leave at least an opinion of the day in a review, much more a review to my story. Thank you,**

** _Iggyloid x_  
**

**__P.S: Happy Independence Day America, lateness and all, Happy Birthday Alfred.  
**


End file.
